


Named You Like a Prayer

by cascading



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Dubious Consent, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Matt Holt has PTSD, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)'s Missing Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascading/pseuds/cascading
Summary: The Galra gave Matt an implant to cause him intense pain only relieved by sex. The Galra gave Shiro.... Matt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> From [this kink meme prompt](http://voltron-kink.dreamwidth.org/1161.html?thread=199305). Title is from the song "New Ceremony" by Dry the River.

“For the last time, no, this is not okay!”

Matt, slumped against the wall, watches Shiro pace the cell fights the urge to groan in pain. The migraine that started blossoming behind his eyes two hours ago has spread through his head and down his neck, and that’s not even touching on the other problems. The worse problems.

Hhe’s going to have to come clean, isn’t he?

“I can’t _do_ that, Matt,” Shiro says. He stops at the far end of the cell, his back turned. “Not as some kind of sick reward for—for—God. No. Just—”

“What if it wasn’t as a reward for you,” Matt says. It takes all his effort to keep that sentence from wavering; the next one does. “What if it was for me?”

Shiro turns. Very, very slowly, head and then shoulders and then down through his knees and feet. “You,” he repeats, like he’s not sure he’s heard right.

“I told you it was okay,” Matt goes on. He swallows, trying to keep the breaks in his voice to a minimum. “It’s—not. Shiro, if you don’t do this, it won’t be okay.”

Shiro is still. Then he blinks. Then he says, “Matt, what—” and Matt can’t bear the kindness in his voice, not now, so he barrels on.

“I have an implant,” he says. “I have to, I have to get fucked. Or whatever. You know. If I don’t, it hurts.”

“It hurts right now,” says Shiro. Not quite a question.

“Yes,” Matt says. It’s a shame and a relief to admit it. He closes his eyes.

“How bad?”

Matt rummages for a comparison. “Remember after we tried to escape the second time? Like…three-quarters that bad.”

Shiro makes a pained sound in his throat, and then he kneels down, putting gentle hands on Matt’s shoulders. Matt can see the exact moment he makes up his mind.

“Tell me what to do,” Shiro says.

They used to kiss, on and off, back at the Garrison. Even early on in captivity, they’d take comfort sometimes in a gentle makeout. But this is not that. This is…it’s another cruel trick from the Galra, that’s all, taking away a first time they could’ve had.

“Fingers first,” says Matt. He’s too exhausted to cry. “Do they like you enough to give you lube?”

Shiro nods. “Will you feel better after?” he asks.

Matt nods. “It’ll—it hurts during,” he confesses. “But you have to keep going. It’s the only thing that’ll fix it.”

Shiro looks grim, but he nods again and gets up to find the lube. “What’s most comfortable?”

“On my back,” Matt says. He’s not totally sure that’s the case, but he wants to see. He wants to know that this is Shiro, not some nameless guard or arena fighter who doesn’t care if they hurt him. He wants—

“Can you,” he says, quietly, as Shiro comes back and starts smearing lube over his fingers. “Can you talk while you do it? I don’t care about what. I just…”

And his voice really does break, then. He’s still not crying, but he looks away, embarrassed, and bites his lip.

“Hey,” Shiro says. His metal hand, the one that’s not sticky, is on Matt’s knee. “I’d do anything. You know that, right?”

Matt swallows hard. It’s hard to know anything when his head feels like something’s broken inside it, physically and mentally. “Right,” he echoes back, though, because Shiro is still looking at him intensely, and Matt doesn’t want Shiro to worry.

With an effort, he peels himself away from the wall and pulls off his clothes—the ragged overshirt first, then the one-piece form-fitting undersuit. He lies down on his back on the floor, and puts his knees up.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Shiro is saying, and if he had more energy Matt would laugh that Shiro has flipped positions so completely, but he’s desperate for comfort, so he’ll take it. “I’ll take care of you, we’ll get through this, okay? You just tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

“Okay,” Matt breathes. He doesn’t know why he’s so scared. He’s thought about this so many times since they stuck in the implant—being with Shiro, being with someone who would care that it hurt. And now that he gets that, that one small mercy, he can’t even seem to appreciate it. He’s shaking; the floor is cold.

“Hey,” Shiro says again, and he comes around Matt, scoops up his head, and kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry, Matt. I’m going to try to fix it.”

“I know,” Matt says. “I—I trust you.”

That, apparently, is what Shiro needs. He presses another light kiss to Matt’s face, then moves around him again and applies a little more lube to his fingers. Then he kneels between Matt’s spread legs and starts touching, just around Matt’s hole at first, then one finger pushing in.

It hurts. The sensation spikes up his spine and tangles with his migraine, and he wonders if it’ll even take Shiro’s cock for the implant to be satisfied this time, he’s that sensitive. But it still took full-on Galra cock penetration the last time he went this long without, the last time it hurt this bad.

“This okay?” Shiro asks, and Matt nods.

“Distract me,” he says, “please. Talk about—anything else.”

“Oh, um.” Shiro hesitates, his fingers stilling with a second just at the entry to Matt’s ass. Matt arches desperately around it.

“So you know how you were going to write your thesis on this,” Shiro finally says, and starts up with the movement again. “If you got back and could finish school, what would you write?”

Matt tries to grin, but it’s more of a grimace. “I’d—have a lot to say about xenobiology?”

Shiro winces. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I was trying to joke—”

“What’s your favorite Star Trek episode?” Shiro interrupts.

Now that, that’s gold. That is what he keeps Shiro around for—and a pang goes through him that has nothing to do with either the migraine or the fingers inside him, because what if this isn’t permanent? But it kicks him into ramble mode anyway, gets him through the third finger and the pullout and the otherwise-tense pause in which Shiro takes off his own bodysuit and struggles to get himself hard.

“These one-pieces are like being back in space,” Matt tries to joke.

Shiro stares at him. “We’re still in space.”

“I know,” Matt says, and then goes back to talking about Spock. Shiro puts his fingers back in again for a second, just in case anything’s closed up, and then lowers himself over Matt and lines himself up.

“You know,” Matt finds himself saying, just because it still hurts so damn bad, “I’m talking about Star Trek while I’m on an alien warship. How many people get to do that?”

Shiro half-laughs, half-groans. “You’re always looking for the bright side, aren’t you?”

Honestly, Matt feels like it would hurt less if his head just came off and rolled around on the floor. “That’s me,” he says. “Cadet Sunshine.”

And then he really does start crying—big, embarrassing tears. Shiro is so close over him, balancing heavily on his metal arm so he doesn’t hurt Matt more, and the closeness and the gentleness and the pain are too much.

“Hey,” Shiro whispers. He kisses Matt’s forehead again even as he keeps on thrusting in, trying to work his way to a finish. “Hey, you can cry, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to be Spock.”

“Spock was brave,” Matt chokes out. “I wish I were Spock.”

“I don’t,” Shiro says. “I’m glad you’re Matt.”

He brushes his nose over Matt’s, just for a moment, and then he speeds up. Matt can barely see; he hears himself sobbing.

And then Shiro shudders in orgasm over him. The implant does its thing, echoing the orgasm into Matt. Everything’s dizzy and blurry and he’s feeling everything, from his eyelids down to his toes and every bodypart between, and he’s not sure if it feels good or bad. It just _feels_.

 When it fades, Shiro is holding him and crying too. They’re a tangle of sweat and limbs and stickiness and it’s nice, Matt thinks, it’s so good to be back with Shiro, to not be in so much pain, to have someone close and warm.

“Hey Shiro,” he whispers, because he wants to say something before he starts getting all ashamed and defensive, or before Shiro starts judging himself and goes away. “Shiro—thanks.”

Shiro looks at him, bewildered, an apology clear on his face.

“No, really,” Matt says. “Thanks. You—it’s good to see you. Doesn’t matter how.”

“You too,” Shiro says shakily. “But Matt—”

It’s like a prayer, the way he says Matt’s name, a prayer for absolution and for rescue, and so much of Matt is begging for those things too. But who the hell is there to answer?

“You don’t have to be Spock either,” Matt says, because if they can’t comfort each other they really, really don’t have shit left. “Okay? It’s okay. The Galra are bastards, and we’re both brave as hell.”

“Yeah.” Shiro runs his lube-stained fingers through Matt’s hair, the stickyness catching at strands, and manages to smile through his tears. “We’re brave as hell.”


End file.
